"It was either that or be shot by Malone."

A chill swept through her, one she could not control. Viktor knelt close, both of them atop the rocks, and removed his jacket. He wrapped its thick fleece around her chest and held her close.

She did not resist.

She couldn't.

The chills came uncontrollably.

Her teeth chattered and she fought to calm her nerves.

Viktor continued to hold her tight. "I tried to divert the soldiers until you and Malone were beyond the bridge, but I didn't know about the chopper. It came quick, apparently knowing you'd have to negotiate the bridge. Tang planned well."

"Where's Cotton?" she managed to ask, hoping the cannon fire had not found him.

"I told him to go. That was after he decided not to shoot me. The chopper wanted to take me out, too, but couldn't get a shot down here. So it left."

She stared up into his eyes and saw both concern and anger. "How'd you find me?"

"When I saw you hanging on, that bought me enough time. I actually expected to find a few broken bones."

"You and me both."

She was steadying herself, the shakes fading. Glancing back she saw the risk he'd taken, step by step, fumbling across the exposed boulders. One slip and he'd have been swept away.

"Thank you, Viktor."

"I couldn't let you drown."

She freed herself of his embrace and stood, but kept the jacket close. Water poured from her clothes. Her hands were blue from the cold. Direct sunlight could not, at this early hour, find its way down the perpendicular walls that towered above her. But she knew there was warmth, higher up. "We have to get to that hall."

He pointed to the far bank. "There's a trail that leads back up. Malone should be at the monastery by now."

"You and he can make your peace, when this is over."

"I doubt that will happen."

"He can be reasonable."

"Not when it comes to you," he said.

"And what about you?"

He pointed out the safest path across the rocks to the bank. "It's a good twenty minutes to the top. We need to hurry."

She grabbed his arm. "I asked you a question."

"Malone was right back in town," he said. "I murdered that pilot for no reason other than to gain your trust." He paused. "Like Malone says all the time, I'm a random a.s.set. Another term for n.o.body. What about me, you asked? Who the h.e.l.l cares."

"Stephanie does. She sent you to get Sokolov."

"And Ivan sent me to kill Tang. Yet here I am, saving your life. Again."

She didn't know what to say, so she released her grip.

And he leaped to the next rock.

SEVENTY-EIGHT.

Malone approached the monastery with caution. He'd rounded the bend in the trail and immediately studied the great pile of crenellated walls, all a purplish red, that formed a solid rampart, its parapets broken only by a single gate.

He stopped at the entrance, tiled in a golden yellow. Above the ma.s.sive red-lacquered doors hung a tablet with symbols.

He'd seen it on both the silk map at Pau Wen's residence and on the map the Chinese premier displayed.

Afang.

The name of Qin Shi's palace. And also the symbol of the Hall for the Preservation of Harmony.

The gates were open, seemingly inviting him inside, so he stepped onto a six-person-wide, stone-paved avenue. Three more elaborate gates gave way to a courtyard surrounded by multistoried buildings and colonnaded porches. Ornamental trees, shrubs, flowers, and the trickle of water through a man-made stream created a feeling of peace.

But he realized this place was anything but untroubled.

A figure of a deity with multiple arms and several faces rose before him. At the far end, up three narrow terraces, past a veranda, a set of doors hung open, guarded by ivory tusks, the s.p.a.ce beyond well lit.

He still hadn't seen anyone.

He kept the gun at his side, finger on the trigger, fighting violent heartbeats and a faint feeling from the thin air. Then he heard a sound. Laughter.

A child.

Speaking in Russian.

He scanned the courtyard and identified the source. To his right, one floor up, through an open window. Sokolov and his son? He had to find out.

Ca.s.siopeia climbed the trail, zigzagging upward, toward where she and Cotton would have arrived if their river crossing had not been interrupted. Trees provided handholds, their gnarly roots gripping the earth with rigid tentacles.

The exertion restored her body. Viktor led the way but occasionally glanced back, keeping watch on her. He'd held her tight on the river. Too tight. She'd sensed his emotions, knew that he cared, but like herself and Cotton, he kept far more inside than he ever allowed out. The murder of that Chinese pilot seemed to bother him. Unusual. Men like Viktor rarely a.n.a.lyzed their actions or expressed regret. A job was a job, ethics be d.a.m.ned. At least that was the way Viktor had always treated things. She believed him on Sokolov. Stephanie would want the Russian alive. Ivan, though, was another matter. He would want Sokolov silent.

Her wet clothes, stained brown from the silty water, hung heavy, dust from the trail clinging to her as if magnetized. She'd lost her gun in the fall and noticed that Viktor carried only a knife, so they were headed into G.o.d-knew-what unarmed.

They found the top of the trail and pa.s.sed rock carvings and an altar. Around a bend they spotted the purplish ma.s.s of the monastery, perched high, overlooking a natural amphitheater of cliffs and valleys.

And heard a gong.

Ni eased himself close to a display of bronze swords. The slim-faceted blades shone in the incandescent lights, their edges and tips sharp.

Do something.

Even if it's wrong.

Pau turned toward Tang, and Ni used the moment to grip one of the weapons, instantly wrapping his arm around Pau, bringing the blade to the older man's throat, flat edge to the skin-for the moment.

"This will easily slit your throat," he said in Pau's ear.

Tang reacted to the threat by summoning the men outside. Two brothers rushed in and leveled their crossbows.

"Tell them to lay down the bows and leave," Ni commanded Pau. "It won't take much to cause you to bleed to death."

Pau stood still.

"Tell them," he said again, and to emphasize the point he twisted the sword ninety degrees, bringing the sharp edge to the skin.

"Do as he says," Pau commanded.

Both brothers laid down their weapons and retreated.

Malone entered one of the buildings that lined the courtyard and ascended a staircase one level. At the top, he inched his way down a wide corridor to an intersection. Carefully, he peered around the corner and spotted a younger man in a woolen robe standing guard outside a closed door. He estimated that the room would face the courtyard at the location of the open window.

Twenty feet lay between himself and the apparently unarmed guard. He decided a direct approach was best, so he tucked the gun into his back pocket and readied himself.

One.

Two.

He rushed around the corner and charged. Just as he'd a.s.sumed, the sudden sight of someone caused a momentary delay in reaction, enough for Malone to coldc.o.c.k the guard with a fist, slamming the back of the man's head into the stone wall.

The man collapsed to the floor.

Malone checked to be sure. No weapon. Interesting. Perhaps they weren't thought necessary behind the impressive fortifications that encased this complex.

He found his own gun, checked behind him-all quiet-and slowly opened the door.

Tang wondered what Ni hoped to gain. There was nowhere to go. "You cannot escape."

"But I can kill your master."

"I do not fear death," Pau said.

"Neither do I. Not anymore. In fact, I would rather be dead than live in a China ruled by you two."

He silently congratulated himself on his forethought. All he had to do was coax Ni back out into the hall.

There, he could end this problem.

Malone saw the look of relief on Lev Sokolov's face, saw the boy curled in his lap.

"Malone," Sokolov muttered. "I wondered what happened to you."

He crossed the empty bedchamber and stole a quick look out the window. The courtyard remained quiet. "How many men are in this place?"

"Not many," Sokolov said. "I have seen only a few. Tang is here, though."

"Where's Ni?"

"They separated us about one half hour ago." The boy stared at him with hard eyes.

"Is he okay?" he asked Sokolov.

"He seems fine."

"We have to go, but he must remain quiet."

Sokolov whispered to the boy, and several nods confirmed that the lad understood. Malone motioned and they left the room, with him leading the way down to ground level.

Heading toward the gate out required a crossing of the open courtyard.

He studied the upper galleries. Seeing no one, he gestured and they hustled forward. They pa.s.sed through a lower gallery, negotiated one of the arched wooden bridges over the man-made stream, and sought a momentary refuge in a gallery on the courtyard's opposite side.

So far, so good.

Ni realized that the longer he lingered within this confined s.p.a.ce, the greater the risk. He had no idea how many brothers were waiting outside. More than he could handle, that was certain. But he was determined to act.

"Move out of here," he told Tang.

His adversary drifted toward the door.

"Careful, Minister," Pau whispered. "He seems to want you out there."

"Shut up."

Yet Pau was right. He'd seen the same thing in Tang's eyes. But he could not stay here. What had the premier said to him? One's life can be weightier than Mount Tai or lighter than a goose feather. Which will yours be?

"Move," he ordered Pau.

Slowly, they inched their way out into the hall. His gaze raked the galleries, searching for threats, while simultaneously watching the three men only a few meters away.

So many places to hide.

And he was totally exposed, on a raised platform, an old man the only thing standing between him and death. "There is nowhere to go," Tang calmly said.